Dark Eyes
by kellythegreat
Summary: The story of Jet, the Freedom Fighter, and the tragedy that caused him to become what he is. From his first tragedy til the Avatar. Rated T for Violence. ONLY ONE CHAPTER LEFT! Now with the Avatar Episode Uploaded.
1. Intro

**Dark Eyes**

_I can remember it. So well._

The village was small, secluded in the mountains about the edges of the Earth Kingdom. To the east lay a deep forest, where a shallow river ran across hot springs; below that was a valley, empty save for a few houses built by lone Earth Benders. To the West lay the fire nation, silent but brooding with uncertainty that kept the villagers alert. The marketplace was crowded with the overflowing stands of women with fresh produce from their backyard gardens, and maids with flower baskets that enticed the young men who loitered by the weapon shops. Blacksmiths made horseshoes for richer families and men carved designs into wood, sold fresh fish from the river, and offered ranging prices on the clothes their wives had sown. Children ran through the streets and paused by the candy shops and pastry carts, spending the small allowance of money their parents gave them on usually unattainable sweets. The feeling on the wind was happiness in those days; no cloud shadowed the sky, no fear haunted their thoughts.

_I can remember it...every detail.._

* * *

"Jet! Where do you think you're going?" Screeched a middle-aged, dark-haired female from the doorway of a small home. The young teenager, who had been skidding down the slope towards the woods with three of his friends, turned and looked back up at his mother.

"We're going to...um...we're..."

"Where are you going?"

"Near...the river..."

"Jet, its almost dark! Your not going down to the river while the sun is setting, you know how dangerous the path can be in the dark! Get back inside and help me fix dinner, you can see your friends tomorrow when the sun is out!"

Jet was tempted to snarl viciously at his mother but he refrained. It was beginning to get dark and he knew that if he left then the path would be unpredictable and almost impossible to follow. But Jet was not a boy prone to obedience. Noticing that his mother had retreated inside he turned quickly to his friends, who were sighing in disappointment, their late night adventure cut short.

"Don't worry, guys. Meet me in the woods next to that old tree stump after you parents go to sleep."

One of Jet's friends, a brown-haired boy was slightly smaller and skinnier than Jet, looked up from where he was kneeling. He had been crushing ants along the ground, a pastime not uncommon to the boys; he looked up from his work and cocked his head to one side.

"Isn't that dangerous? That's at..the back of the woods -"

"Hey, we've gone back there before!" said Jet, leaping forth towards the edge of the forest. He caught a tree limb and dangled in front of the boys, who laughed as he swung. "We'll be fine! And then we can really play - it's a lot harder to see the enemy in the dark. We can play Battle."

"Alright, but I don't want to be Water Tribe!" said the boy defiantly. "Everyone always gangs up on Water Tribe. I want to be Earth Kingdom."

"And I get to be Fire Nation!" shouted another boy. He leapt towards Jet and spread his palms towards him, making hissing noises as if fire was coming from them. Jet laughed and leapt from the tree as though he had just dodged a flame, and the boys broke out into a pretend battle. The scuffling noises drew back the attention of Jet's mother and she reappeared in the doorway, red-faced and fuming.

"Jet, for the last time! Get inside!"

* * *

An owl was hooting, very quietly, outside the window. Shadows were running around the room as Jet, his dark hair falling across his eyes, listened for the sounds of his parent's snores.

He was a master of stealth and crept from his room without even the slightest sound of a footstep. His parents were deep in dreams and he slid through the door without disturbing them. Jet was quiet proud of his skills in secrecy and held a record among the other kids - Most Times Snuck Out Without Being Caught. Yet tonight was different than he remembered. As he crept to the edge of the forest he heard something - something like a very faint, far off cry, that echoed gently through the valley and died away again. He shrugged it off and continued to walk through the woods. Behind him, the dark horizon flared up with brief edges of light and dark forms crept down the slope of the mountain.

He should have been worried when he reached the stump and no one else was there to greet him. He should have been worried, sitting alone in the dark like that. He should have searched for his friends that never showed up, should have been concerned that a strange burning stench was hanging in the air. He should have done something the moment he saw the flames glitter through the trees.

_I should have done a lot of things._


	2. Falling

The fire was engulfing the edge of the forest and Jet, coughing violently from the frequent waves of black smoke, stumbled through the flames in desperation to reach the village. His face was streaked with soot and he had barely escaped being burnt alive; but right now his thought was on anything but himself. Dark forms rode through the streets on horseback and Jet could see the edges of blades glimmering in the light from the fire.

The air was ripped with screams and dogs were howling; he could see men break down doors with flames raging around their fists and spreading from buildings. All of them wore horned helmets that had a distinct resemblance of the devil and drove the thought of demons into Jet's mind. Terrified that hell had broken loose in the world he ran through the streets, shouting a short prayer of thanksgiving that an elder had taught him.

He heard a man laugh and felt a stabbing, sudden pain in his arm. He howled and went down as the devil stood over him, the fire flaming up his arms and engulfing his horned mask.

A boulder came suddenly from the side and slammed into his armor; the man was thrown back with several cracked ribs and lay motionless on the ground. The Earthbender helped Jet to his feet and pushed him in the direction of the woods before he confronted another Fire Nation soldier.

But it was too little, too late; the fire glowed in his eyes and the man fell, dead and cold, his face blackened and horribly disfigured.

The Fire Nation - which was now how Jet knew them, in their immortal masks, their faces distorted by the raging firelight - turned on him but he heard a spear drive into his side. The soldier vomited blood and doubled over to the earth, and Jet was picked up by a pair of strong arms.

"Don't worry Jet, we'll get you out, we won't let the Fire Nation hurt you - "

It was the voice of Tavi, the father of one of his friends; a voice that was cut short as an arrow found his back and he toppled over, rolling Jet into the grass.

He cried, helpless, crawling towards the woods, rent with grief. Then the face of his mother flashed into his mind and he turned back to face his home, which stood several feet away and was not yet burning. Strengthened by the sight of his home he pushed himself to his feet and ran to the doorway, where his father met him, blade in hand.

"Jet! Get out of here! Where's your mother! Jet, go!"

He felt another pair of arms around him and recognized the embrace of his mother. The hellish fires disappeared briefly as she ran him into the woods and placed him next to a large, hollow tree that Jet vaguely remembered using as a hide-and-seek spot.

"Stay here, do you understand?"

"Mom -"

"Do not go anywhere! Do not come near town until I come for you! Do you understand?"

She did not see him nod, but she did not need to. In a moment she was gone and Jet sat, patiently, for the span of a few seconds. Then the horrifying sounds of destruction became unbearable and he crawled forth into the thicket, desperate to find his parents.

The shadows in the bushes clouded around Jet in camouflage, embracing, him, protecting him. They seeped greedily into his eyes and gripped the delicate hue, twisting it to a darker shade that matched the deadly night. The same darkness glittered over his mother's tears as she looked up, sobbing, from the bloody form of his father. The same darkness that flashed in the man's face as he grinned, the sword raised so eagerly in his fist.

And slowly the same darkness crept upon Jet, sinking into the frail make-up of his terror-ridden body, darkening his wide eyes that danced with flame and the reflection of a falling blade.

_

* * *

_

_Fire Nation._

I was...I was...

_I was angry. I was so, so angry..._

I sat there inside the tree as the search parties passed me. The shadows were my friends then. They were the only thing that did not disappear in bloody streams, did not grow horns and laugh, drunk with death...did not light up the sky in flames of complete desolation...

My eyes used to be bright, translucent green. Green eyes that laughed with the boys as we skipped stones in the river, eyes that darted around corners when we took candy from carts without paying, eyes that could elude suspicion and cover fear, eyes that tricked and deceived and confused, eyes that were innocent, unknowing of pain...of despair...of rage.

It rent my body like claws, like the teeth of hounds. I wanted to rip their throats out with my own teeth, I wanted them to suffer, suffer as I suffered...I wanted...revenge...

My eyes...they had been so bright. The fury...the hatred...it swirled in my heart, mysoul,consuming, perverting, twisting...until my gaze went entirely dark.

I would destroy them...every...last...one of them...

_The way they destroyed me._


	3. First Kill

Morning came, blinding bright, as thick and red as the blood that stained the earth. It dripped through the branches of trees and made the green leaves fall to the earth; it soaked the valley like wave upon wave of crimson ocean; it poured through broken windows and mirrored the fires that still burned, hot and heavy as ever, in the ashes of houses, the ashes of homes, the ashes of people. It made the ravens cry and the beasts awaken, beasts who rose from sleep only to breathe fresh smoke into their lungs. It met the forest in its demonic glory, met the horned devil helmets of the Fire Nation as they patrolled the burning streets. But Jet was not there to meet it.

_Run, run, run. They won't catch me._

There was a flash of shadow through the bowing trees and the darkness of Jet's eyes glittered faintly. His silence was complete and terrible, bleeding into the creaking trees around him and causing an eerie quiet to flood the woods. His feet hardly touched the brown earth, his clothes making o ruffle in the breeze, his heels flying as if the wind chased him. His concentration was ahead of him, his ears taking in whatever lay behind him, his senses erupted to full awareness from the anguish he withheld. If a passerby should've seen him - a rare thing, for the speed he developed was of a frightening pace - they would see a shell, a frame full of quenchless vengeance, the transparent monster of a wrathful, desperate ghost.

He did not stop running until the bloody sun caught up with him. He wanted to outrun the despair, outrun the horror, outrun the blood. But as the red light soaked into his clothes, his skin, his eyes, he stumbled to the earth, imprisoned by the memory.

His face scraped along the ground and he lay there for a few minutes, breathing hard and heavy into the dust. His knees were bleeding and the rocks in the earth jutted into his body like a bed of nails. Blood ran across his mouth and he glared hatefully into the red light, panting, his eyes beginning to water. The blood-streaked face of his mother came into view and he closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"Hey! You!"

A tremor went up his spine and he leapt dodgily from the earth, stumbling backwards into a towering, red-stained tree. It took a moment for his gaze to clear, for his head to quit spinning; but when it did, his heart stopped.

The man wasn't wearing a helmet, but he recognized the armor instantly. Red as the cursed sun that mocked him, red as the fire that burned in the streets, red as the shed blood of his mother. There was a blade at his belt and embers glowing in his palm. A confused look was in his eyes at the sight of the bloody, exhausted boy. He took a step towards him, unsure of himself.

"You alright? Kid? What Nation you from?"

_Nation? Fire Nation. Soldier. MOTHER. FATHER._

There was an internal snap. The bounds around reason vanished; the laws of conduct, the code of civilized man, disappeared in a violent and barbaric flash. Rules no longer applied.

Jet's fingernails dug into the bark and he let out a primal scream, his eyes swirled dark with hatred.

The next thing the soldier knew was that he couldn't breathe. Jet's hands were at his throat, his adrenaline fed from fury and rushing to his muscles with ten times more strength than the young boy was normally capable of. The soldier stumbled back, but he was much better trained and he knocked the rabid child away from him with one decisive blow. Jet tumbled to the earth, his body winded, but neither pain nor fatigue would phase him now. In a moment his hands had found the earth and he leapt like a cat, digging his fingernails into the man's eyes and kicking him, fast and hard, in his armored stomach.

The soldier roared and shoved him off, his left eye bleeding profusely. His hand lit to flame and he turned to Jet, but Jet had vanished. While he wondered where the screaming terror had disappeared to, Jet's eye had focused on the blade at the man's belt. The soldier felt a fierce tug at his side and the casing on the sword gave a deafening rip and shredded the sheath to pieces. Jet stumbled back, trying to gain footing, but the blade was too heavy for his hand and it dragged along the ground with a dull ring.

The soldier's hand flamed and Jet dived from the blast. The tree behind him ignited in a hellfire and the soldier cursed loudly. In that moment of distraction Jet gave one last demanding effort and the sword arched in a graceful circle before slicing into the back of the man's ankle.

Blood spurted from the wound. The ligament severed. The soldier howled and collapsed, fumbling towards the cut. His leg gave several violent tremors and the man roared as each wave of pain shot up his leg.

Jet did not pause. He smiled, hearing the scream of that demon, knowing that the man was at his mercy. But the blood made him falter, his stomach still queasy at the sight. He convulsed as though he would throw up.

_No. Mother. Father. Remember why you fight._

The darkness in his eyes deepened. He gave a huge, tremendous roar and lifted the blade above his head.

"YOU TOOK MY FAMILY!"

A glimmer flickered down the blade as it sliced through the man's pale, scream-filled throat.

Jet panted and let the sword fall from his grasp. The man's body was twitching involuntarily, his head completely severed, his eyes glazed over with what Jet knew was a death mist. Suddenly he realized what he had done - he had killed a Fire Nation soldier. He had taken revenge. But...but...

_Its not enough._

His heart still tore. His mind still wavered on insanity. He still wanted to kill, to destroy, to murder.

He sank down onto his knees and stared, long and hard, at the cold body. Several pockets were sown into the sides of his uniform and a sudden idea came to Jet. He leaned over the man and searched him, looking quizzically in the pockets for anything that seemed of useful value. But the man carried nothing, and Jet gave an irritated groan before he caught sight of the man's bleeding leg and his red, blood-soaked boot.

He discovered something much more useful within the man's thick, black shoe. It was much more convenient than the weighty sword; the blade was ten times sharper, lighter, and more accurate than he could've hoped for. A hidden dagger, part of the uniform of a soldier, rested in his palm and he took the handle, wondering what his grip would feel like on it.

To his surprise he unclipped a fastening on the end of the knife and a slender case slipped out. He caught it quickly before it smashed against the ground and gasped when he saw it. Poison. But no...that may be useful later. He slipped the poison back into the knife and secured the clasp. His eyes fell back with disgust on the body and he felt a rage rise in him again.

He had killed him, but he had not suffered. He had not lived with agony like Jet had too, he didn't have to keep on surviving with a cruelty dwelling in his heart, the flashes of demons stirring in his gaze. He was dead. And the dead do not suffer. He wanted the Fire Nation...to suffer.

There was a low neigh and Jet looked up the path. A form was riding towards him, a feminine form mounted on a black horse. She was leading the mare very cautiously, very slowly, as though she was looking for something. A small bundle, cradled in one of her arms, stirred slightly and let out a faint cry. Jet's eyes slitted and he disappeared like a phantom's shadow.

The woman was calling something softly into the trees, her voice shaking slightly with uncertainty. She paused the horse as the body of the dead soldier came into view. There was a moment where she stared, speechless, immobile, the toddler shifting in her arms. Jet glared at her between the branches, between the locks of his long, dark hair, waiting.

"..Ru...Rugato? Why are you..."

Her words failed in oncoming horror. She had finally allowed the pool of blood to enter her gaze and she held the bundle closer to her, her eyes wavering on the twisted scene. Trembling, she glanced in panic around her and turned her mare, keeping her eyes on the path behind her. As she turned away, her gaze a mask of fear, her eyes focused on a small form blocking her path.

Jet stood before her with his eyes glittering. His shoulders hunched and his feet spread onto the dusty earth. He caught the crimson color of her clothing, the flaming emblem on her tunic. His empty fist clenched and his fingers tightened on the glimmering dagger.

The woman swallowed and her hands shook at the reins. She did not at first comprehend the fierceness of the aura around him, the shadows of rage that dripped from his eyes. She opened her mouth to speak when she realized that he wasn't looking at her at all.

He was glaring, fixedly, unblinking, at the baby in her arms.

_You took my family._


	4. Thump

Jet was smiling.

For the first time, since those short hours ago when the blade had fallen, when his family had been murdered viciously, wrenched from him – he was smiling.

The woman had stopped screaming, but she was still sobbing uncontrollably. Jet studied her idly, twirling the bloody knife, kneeling beside the dead carcass of the gallant mare. The red sash tied around the horse's neck was soaked so dark it hardly passed as red anymore; the wound at its throat was still pulsing vigorously, and Jet waited as it slowed. He was waiting, waiting for life to cease from the cursed horse, that horse that had borne monsters and killers and devils. And when its pulse faded, when the agony had at last consumed her, he would kill the woman too.

From somewhere in the back of Jet's mind his sanity still lingered, but it was encased with such a thick fury that his conscious was all but lost. He hated himself for that small bit of sanity, and he comforted his tortured soul in knowing that he could disregard it. His pain could be reflected in others - he could make them more miserable than himself - he could avenge his family.

He had discovered several things in the last hour: that the ankle was an excellent place to strike to inhibit a man, especially a strong one; that a horse's neck, while the most likely place to kill, is terribly thicker than a man's and requires much greater precision and strength; and that babies cry when they see knives. But most importantly, he learned he could kill.

And he learned that he was terribly good at it.

The woman looked up at him imploringly, the bloody bundle wrapped lovingly in her embrace. Jet ignored her. He was listening.

_Thump. Thump._

_It's fading._

"Why…dear Roku, why…my…my l-little boy…" her voice broke and she began to sob again.

_Thump…thump…….thump…._

_Almost._

"How…monster, how ever…my baby boy…no…."

_Thump…._

An eerie silence enclosed the dead horse and amplified the woman's ramblings. The dark hair fell over Jet's eyes as his smile widened. It would all be complete soon. It would all be over. The agony, the despair, the pain. For both of them.

The woman continued to whimper, her despair not yet turned to wrath, but getting there. Jet knew the tides of her feelings and felt the oncoming rage stir within her. She would want to kill him, like he wanted to kill her, like the man wanted to kill him, like the Fire Nation wanted to kill his family.

He felt the fire rear into her gaze, felt her voice begin to tremble with a note that wasn't grief. The knife ceased twirling and Jet tensed. His muscles fitted together in a not so unified way, being as he was still relatively knew to this. The woman, furious, let out a scream of rage and lifted her head in the beginning of a leap.

She never made it into the air. Her hair washed over her face as she plummeted to the earth, as Jet pulled the dagger from her stomach.

She lay there, convulsing terribly, clutching the mortal wound in a desperation to cling to life. Jet watched her half in amusement, waiting for her to give in to death. She started twitching and the pool of blood was forming from the incision. It collected in a gruesome puddle that grew to her ankles and she vomited twice. Her breathing turned raspy and still Jet looked on, curbing the swelling in his throat, never blinking, engraving the moment in his mind.

It would teach him mortality. It would teach him discipline. It would teach him apathy.

There was a low, rattling cough, and she lay still. Still as the slashed mare, still as the decapitated soldier, still as the stabbed infant.

And in a moment, Jet was gone, his feet flying across the earth with an unnatural speed that reflected the precision of the moment, the still dripping blood of the dead woman.His mind, once so full of innocence, turned to cunning as he hummed to the tune ofthe pulse in his neck. His smile was entrancing.

_I will destroy them all._

And now he knew how to do it.

* * *

The forest between the valley and the sea was enormous, hundreds of miles from one end to the other, built from the thickest, tallest red-golden trees on that side of the earth. Secrets were buried there that even the long-dwelling Earth Kingdom race had never heard of, myths and fairytales that lingered still beneath the animosity of the overbearing tree limbs, hanging like ancientarchways over paths that had long been washed away. These secrets grew dark and twisted as Jet passed by them,tortured with the boy's own cursed fate. And beneath the trees, as Jet began his long years of work, the forest itself grew dark from the inside out. The forest became the guardian.

And Jet became its secret.


	5. Beginning

For the first few months, the glory of his unpredicted slaughter hovered in Jet's mind; not so much as a trophy, but as a teacher. He had watched death envelop the lives of four separate beings, four chess pieces beneath the hand of the Fire Nation, four devils in elaborate disguise.

The man was easy. A soldier, a killer, a demon. For all Jet knew he had aided the raid on his village and was responsible, personally, for his parents. Such a thing could never be proven, but it did not matter to Jet. Every firebender was a murderer, a roaring devil consumed by the taste of blood, and no argument could ever persuade him otherwise. He alone had survived the gruesome deaths that haunted his ghost village, and he alone would reap repentance for each life lost. The soldier was a pawn in an army of thousands, but he retained more evil than a million free men. This was Jet's belief, from the moment the blade sliced through the man's neck and, so he it seemed, until the moment he died. Blood had spurted from the great vein in the soldier's neck and stained him, but he soon found justice in this. He was a knight, robed with righteousness, soaked in the blood of a slain dragon. The boy who killed the giant.

The horse was a similar case. A servant, a bearer of killers. It rode them into battle, possessed by the demons mounted in their saddles, screaming a raging bloodlust across the metal bit. It trampled innocents into the dust beneath iron-clad hooves, hot as hellfire, flailing like a gale in every direction. Such a creature was in no way unaccountable for its actions. Good horses, Jet decided, threw off their riders if they were firebenders. Good horses would attune themselves with their surroundings, being much closer to nature than man, and realize the weight of evil they carried. That is why the mare who bore the woman died; because it willfully aided those who sought destruction, those who sought death. And anything that aided such a man Jet swore to kill.

The woman was a harder matter. Most would've thought his cruelty beyond reason to stab a helpless woman; but she was Fire Nation, born and bread, and the same demonic blood ran through her cursed veins. Her vicious nature was only curbed by society, and had she the chance she would've gladly joined the holocaust that devastating night. But what Jet mainly knew was this: that women bore children.

The baby was the most offensive of all in Jet's eyes. He had cried loudly upon seeing the strange, dark-haired Earth Kingdom boy glare at him with a laughing knife, his swirling black eyes clouded with untold depths of hatred. But that small bundle of insignificant, sobbing human flesh was something far greater, something Jet wrapped his mind around only after several long days of concentration and training. That baby was the future, and the devils of Fire Nation did not deserve a future.

All these things Jet managed in his head and repeated to himself, forming the basis of his life, the basis of his belief. He knew what purpose he would serve, but the beliefs yet escaped him. The deaths he had brought had taught him where to begin his beliefs. Soon he no longer had to tell himself certain things. He had worried that killing was sinful. But he was killing Fire Nation, the Land of Devils, and to rid the world of evil was a crusade of holiest degree. Would his parents be upset?

_Remember why you fight. They killed your parents. You can't know if they'd be upset._

_Remember why you fight._

And with the vision of his parents in mind, Jet settled to his first task.

Building an army.

* * *

Jet had never dreamed of being a leader, and even as he began to plan he did not fancy himself one. He was overwhelmed by daily life, which had suddenly become dreadfully difficult and dangerous. His first home was occupied by a large badger – something he found out too late, though he came away with a beautiful pelt and a boastful stomach scar. After that he concentrated more on secrecy, on the location of his home; and that was when he looked to the trees.

For a ten year old boy Jet was devilishly smart. Fire Nation soldiers – despite the archers – did not climb trees unless they could burn them down first. To create his hideout among the branches could either be perfect genius or creative suicide, both of which Jet's mind could easily comprehend. The forest was much to large and lush to be burned down quickly, and Jet's palace was located directly in the midst of it. Any escape from a fire would be pitifully easy.

But with the discovery of a treetop home, Jet focused on another problem: food. While the forest was abundant with delicacies such as the hardly digestible Leechy Nut, it would take a good source of protein to keep Jet's body at full strength. And that was how Jet learned to fish.

The details are all either boring or hilarious, but in the end Jet stumbled back to the half-rotting horse carcass and managed to make a net out of horse hair. This living, however, was almost unendurable, and Jet – to keep his mind of the roars of his stomach – spent most of his time mapping out the forest. On his third voyage, he happened to pass the spot where the dead bodies lay, nauseous and decaying, on the brown earth. He froze behind a nearby tree at the scene and watched, captivated. Seven soldiers stood there.

This time, Jet did not have the immediate desire to kill them. He was growing cunning, and a malicious new idea came to him, compliments of his rumbling belly.

He would steal.


	6. Another

It takes a peculiar amount of skill and experience to be a great thief, and though Jet was growing into a talented killer, he lacked the latter. An untold amount of patience is required, which his hot-head did not possess; also, and accurate calculation of distance and proportion, which were both warped by the rage in him; an extensive insight and knowledge of human perception, which he understood slightly but was too young to fully comprehend; and the realization of his own bodily limits, which he had felt vaguely during his killings but ignored, having his blood pumping with adrenaline.

All in all, an experienced bandit would have stopped Jet in his tracks and carried him back to his treehouse, but Jet had no such mentor. The seven soldiers, who were examining the rotting bodies with both curiosity and confusion, were all firebenders, and well equipped with such weapons necessary for a stroll in dark and twisting woods. But the gleam of metal and the smell of armor polish did not defer Jet; he was too consumed with confidence, blinded by his own conceit.

The closest soldier was slightly shorter than the others but more broadly built, and it had been quiet and ordeal trying to fit him armored shoulder blades. He inspected each body carefully as Jet began to fidget in his hiding place, his patience running low.

"It is Rugato, of the Third Regiment. His wife Mi Lin was with him, and their son, Roku."

Jet kept forward under the cover of the man's voice and received a clearer picture of the soldier's vicious attire. His confidence gave way slightly and a naturally, boyish fear threatened to surface. A man across from the short soldier spoke.

"Who attacked them? Rugato was to come up the day after the raid, when all villagers were slain. Did someone escape?"

"Impossible. They set up a perimeter around the whole village. They were securing the spot for a settlement."

Jet's heart slowed as he thought over these words. A settlement? What did they mean?

At this moment a question slipped into Jet's thoughts like some sort of ethereal snake; why had the Fire Nation attacked and slain every man, woman, and child in a secluded, unarmed, and remote Earth Kingdom village? What threat had they ever been to those thirsty fire demons?

The short man was speaking again, but Jet was no longer listening. A devil will attack the innocent without reason or cause, lavishing only in the horror of their screams. But wouldn't the might of the Fire Nation be concerned with places of strength and spoil?

"…back to the settlement, they're starting to rebuild. The bodies have all been buried and they're shipping in supplies. We can lay Rugato and his family in the flames and have a proper burial…"

Settlement? Rebuild? Supplies? None of it made sense to Jet. He lost all desire to murder and replaced it with a sudden lust for the unknown. The men were shouldering the bodies (he saw only one soldier wince – the one who carried Rugato's head) and starting west. West – the direction of the ruins of his village.

Jet followed them carefully, summoning all his minor skill and creeping up the path in a nervous silence. He had not returned to his village since that dreadful night, for the ghosts there haunted him with such vigilance that he hardly slept for nightmares. Horned helmets and fire-licked bodies constantly crossed his gaze and he struggled through long hours of meditation to seal such horrors away. Now that he was nearing his bloody home the screams of that night began to repeat in his ears and he flinched. He paused several times on his journey to shake visions of devil-masks from his mind, or – more often – the memory of the glittering blade, glowing pale as the white skin of his mother's neck.

It took three hours to get to the village, and the soldiers never paused once. As they neared the edge of the trees Jet chose a noble oak and resumed his chase from the branches. The squirrels, fearful of the rage in his heart, scuttled from his path and the birds took instant flight. The soldiers, however, noticed nothing of the animal's strange behavior and walked boldly into the ruins of Jet's town. And when Jet laid eyes on his destroyed home, a fit of rage swept over him.

_They have taken my family. They have taken my home._

He gripped the branch he crouched on so fiercely that his bare fingers dug through the bark and began to bleed.

_This is why you fight. _

They had burned the village's temple to the ground, and on top of it a make-shift building had been erected. Military Admirals and Generals were entering and exiting the front door with a casual air, lugging stacks of papers, marked maps, compasses, rulers, and others assorted tools and writing utensils. A General, recognizable from the symbol on his tunic, was huddled at a poorly built wooden table with several of his men, pondering the location of something or other on a half-torn map. Soldiers had taken off their horned helmets and were busy aiding servants and settlers as they carried boxes of nails, barrels of sugar and salt, crates of produce, sacks of flour, planks of thick wood, caged chickens, and other such supplies necessary for the settling of a new area. A fire raged in the midst where the town square had once stood. Jet vaguely remembered a slim, dark-haired female that pushed a pastry cart past that same spot. She was kind and her voice had been soft; often she gave them free candies and sweetened apples. Jet's stomach did a turn as he hands began to tremble. They had killed her, ruthlessly, probably slain her as she opened the door of her house and walked timidly outside. She had never hurt a fly, that woman…

Jet lowered himself from the tree and dropped silently to the ground. The dagger, filled with the flask of poison, lay gleaming in his hand. He would kill them all, he decided. One by one, a swirling terror, a fearsome wraith to deadly to follow…

He was seconds from leaping into the clearing when a scuffle broke out between two soldiers. Apparently, one of them had stolen something of the other's, or some such trivial nonsense. Before Jet could blink an Agni Kai was raging before him.

Jet had never seen such fighting in his life. He had watched Earth bender duel before, had watched the blackbelts perform at festivals – but he had never watched the brutal ferocity of a real Agni Kai, the raw power of real firebending, martial art masters.

It roared in front of him, a devilish dance, limbs spinning and spurting fire that glowed orange and made Jet sweat. Both men were equally enraged and fire licked their sides with ruthless barbarity before flashing towards the equally volcanic opponent. The fight was entrancing: a ritual of strength, agility, passion – and Jet was dazzled by it.

It ended when an Admiral strode between them and cancelled their attacks, screaming at them to get back to work. Grumbling angrily, the men obeyed their superior and walked away, but the impact was no less heavy on the young boy crouched among the trees. The ground was black and ashy, the trees slashed and broken, the rocks blasted so hard that pebbles lined the ground. In that moment, Jet realized exactly what he was up against.

_I am fighting devils._

A good fifty men inhabited the settlement and Jet, for the first time in months, subdued his rage and crept back into the forest.

* * *

Jet had not been defeated. Never, for as long as the charismatic boy lived, would he admit to defeat. But he admitted, if only to himself, that he stood no chance against so many such men.

He labored, incessantly, in his tree-tops, hacking away at wood with his slim dagger, struggling with all his strength to cut one plank from a tree. His mind flashed often to the heavy carts of wood the Fire Nation was bringing to his town, but he put away such ideas. One boy could have no hope of getting away with a plank of the ghastly heavy wood, not to mention to whole cart. Instead, the outcast spent his days sharpening his dagger and hacking at the stubborn logs, so that slowly – very, very slowly – his fortress in the trees started to shape.

He was constantly hungry, so eventually he resigned to chewing twigs as a supplement for lack of food. As he hacked away at trees with a dagger that was half his arms length, sweating profusely and chewing the bark off his twig, he hammered the thought of his parents into his mind.

It was a constant reminder, a constant pain/

_Remember why you fight._

Jet's progress would have been dreadfully slow and tedious, had it not been for several incidents that began the league of his Freedom Fighters.

The first incident happened four months after his village was burned. Tired of hacking at his twentieth plank he stumbled down to a shallow stream that ran a few yards away from the midst of the forest. When he reached the clearing and found the water, frothy and cold, he found something else too.

Jet stepped onto the river bank and heard a twig crack. He spun instinctively, his life now filled with constant paranoia, only to stare into a pair of dark eyes that matched perfectly with his own.


	7. Longshot

Jet stumbled, thinking there was a reflection of himself on the other side of the stream – but he soon realized that this apparition wasn't his own ghost.

He was dreadfully pale, probably from living a life of fear and hiding, and also the sudden appearance of a boy with the dagger in the heart of the woods. His dark eyes were shadowed by a straw hat that threw darkness over everything but his thin-lipped mouth. He was slightly shorter than Jet, but he was lanky, with stringy muscled arms and thin legs that seemed able to break at any moment. His tunic was shredded and slightly singed, his red cloak torn at the shoulders. He was watching Jet with the utmost terror, his hands resting shakily on what appeared to be a longbow.

The weapon itself was half his size and he had to put it on the ground ever few seconds, as it was too heavy for him. The arrow dangled in his hand, missing the string every time he tried to place it in the notch, his fingers dancing with nervous excitement.

Jet took the opportunity to duck behind a tree for cover, even though he knew the boy's bow was of little threat. Glancing at him between the branches, he caught his eye for the second time.

"You! Are you Fire Nation?"

The boy glanced up from his bow at these words and a terrible wrath swept across his face. Furious, he grabbed his arrow and slammed it fiercely into the nearest tree, shaking his head angrily.

Jet, confused but feeling more at ease, approached him as he wrenched the arrow from the tree. When the other boy saw him he turned and pointed at him with the point of the arrow.

For a second, Jet didn't know what was happening; then he realized what the boy meant.

"No, I'm not Fire Nation," he said instantly. To prove his point, he put the dagger back at his side and the other boy relaxed.

Jet found a spot in the stream only a foot across and jumped to the other side, where the boy came over and smiled at him. Jet smiled back, feeling an unsure comfort coming from the presence of another human being that wasn't a Fire nation devil.

"Who are you?"

The boy's smile faded and he turned away. Walking away slowly, he reached a bare spot of forest earth and bent down to pick up a lone twig. Jet, confused and slightly offended, rounded on him.

"Hey, I asked you a question. What's wrong with you?"

The boy was scribbling something furiously in the earth and for another moment, Jet was perplexed. Then he stood up and pointed to what he had written, gesturing for Jet to read. Reluctantly, he bent to the earth and read the scribbling.

**I can't talk.**

Jet frowned and looked at the boy, who was now kneeling beside him and nodding encouragingly.

"What do you mean, you can't talk?"

The boy stirred up the dirt and wrote something new.

**My throat was burned.**

Jet frowned again, but suddenly a light bulb went on in his head.

"Fire Nation did it to you, didn't they?"

The boy scribbled.

**I breathed in the smoke. They burned my town. The bow is my father's.**

Something wrenched painfully inside Jet as he read the last sentence. Visions of roaring flame and devils entered his gaze, but he shook them away. His thought turned to his mother, his father, his family – the reason he fought.

"What happened to him? Your family?"

For a moment the boy did nothing. He was staring at the dirt as though contemplating what exactly to write in response to Jet's question. Hesitantly, he bent down and scribbled something.

**Fire Nation burned down our Temple.**

Jet read it and grew immediately irritated. How could he say something like that after Jet's question? Did he even care about his family?

"That's not what I asked you. What happened to your family?" he snapped. After hammering the deaths of his own family into his mind, any disrespect shown by others to their families he resented with an intense fierceness. The boy scribbled.

**They were in the Temple.**

Jet regretted his anger instantly. He stammered a sorry as the boy shook it off. For a moment, a silence lingered between them. Then Jet raised his voice.

"I want to destroy the Fire Nation. Like they destroyed my village," he blurted. Surprisingly, the boy looked up at him with wistful, shining eyes and nodded in ferocious approval, patting his bow. Spurred by his support Jet went on.

"You too? Then we should do it together. My name's Jet."

The boy scribbled something into the earth.

**Call me Longshot.**

Jet smiled at the clever name and held out his hand towards him.

"Then let's be partners, Longshot. Me and you will start something. A band of fighters, to free the innocent from the Fire Nation. We'll take them down, as long as it takes. We'll make them pay for what they've done."

Longshot gazed warily at Jet's outstretched hand before scribbling something else on the ground.

**How can I trust you?**

Jet's smile faded, but he kept his hand extended. His eyes locked with Longshot's.

"They killed my parents too."

Longshot studied Jet's face for a moment, and then clapped his hand in his. Jet let out a victorious laugh and jumped into the air, hollering.

"Alright! We'll bring the Fire Nation down, we'll make them pay, we'll –"

He stopped as Longshot tapped his shoulder and pointed to the earth, where he had written something new.

**I know where to find some others. Others like us.**


	8. Others

Jet had allowed his defenses to fall upon his discovery of Longshot, this silent, untrained, orphaned, yet like-minded archer. But as he strode restlessly through the red-stained trees – side-by-side with Longshot, unwilling even in his youth to be a follower – his torment came back to him with full force. The captivating eyes of godless fire demons, the bitter taste of a half-lived mortality, the sickening way a man gargled when his throat bled. Jet hammered it into his mind, focused on the fierceness of his movement, the vengeance that he had not yet reaped. He would kill them. He would make them suffer.

This code of which he lived by – a code of revenge and repentance, to bring judgment upon the devils of Fire Nation – had its own precious drawbacks. He would never again know the comfort of love, the relief of perfect safety. The cheap luxury of friendship was no longer part of Jet's life.

Beneath the shadows of branches and crimson leaves, Jet's mind began to turn in a slow, cunning, calculating way. For months he had been isolated, absorbed with his own pain, his own guilt and despair. He had driven himself so far into the tortured recesses of thought that all other life forms practically ceased to exist. He had listened to birds call from the trees and, though he could mimic their voice, he did not recognize them any more he did the soundless piles of dirt at his feet. He was consumed by paranoia, by vengeance, by bloody desire. He noted the wind only for the smells it carried; the trees only for the food it bore; the moon and the sun only for the passing of time. Day by day he had labored at a log to build a home, and now – as Longshot paused at the edge of a thicket and bent low – he had discovered his greater purpose.

His army was becoming a reality. And he was absolutely determined to be its General.

Longshot gestured lightly before them and Jet lowered himself to his knees. The thicket obscured his vision and it was growing dark, but he found a passage between the thorns and peered, hesitantly, into the dusk-lit clearing.

And when he saw who was sitting there, he did – what he supposed – was a very sensible thing.

He laughed. Very loudly and decisively, he laughed.

Longshot stared at him in horror as the occupants leapt from where they were sitting. Jet, fueled by both arrogance and experience (you could never really tell which) straightened up, dusted himself off, and stepped boldly into the clearing.

One of the kids scuttled backwards, but his fellows stopped him from running. A small boy – hardly as tall as Jet's hip – picked up a stick and brandished it like a poor replica of Excalibur. He launched himself towards the smiling, smug-looking boy with all his minute strength, his throat uttering a high-pitched cry. What he got was a foot to the heel and a face-full of dirt.

"Calm down, pipsqueak. I'm not here to kill you."

He said it in such a plain-spoken, matter-of-fact way that it almost – _almost_ – could have been considered a joke. Almost.

The rest of the children stared at him in either stomach-twisting terror or complete and total awe. A five year old's thumb was hanging guiltily at his lips, his attention captured by the dark, powerful stranger with the brooding shadows at his shoulders. Longshot, shaking his head grimly, appeared beside him with his bow in hand, unwilling to attempt fitting his only arrow. Jet tilted his head backwards and nodded acknowledgement to the dagger twirling in his right hand. The children shrank back slightly, but dared not run. The boy whom Jet had called pipsqueak was struggling up from the earth.

"I no Pipsqueak…my daddy is…big as a tree! I'll be big too, you'll see…"

A larger boy held him back as he continued to swing the stick like a homerun baseball bat. Jet studied him with a casual eye, not disturbed in the least by any of the children's behaviors. Most of them were solely focused on the slim dagger in his palm, too entranced by it gleaming movement to ask questions. From the corner of his eye Jet counted heads, just in case. Seven: five boys and two girls.

Longshot tapped his shoulder to warn him he was overdoing the victorious entry. Jet nodded and walked towards the tallest boy, who was almost the same height as him.

"What's your name?"

The boy stared at him for a minute before stuttering a response.

"S -Son Nih. Everyone calls me Sneers."

Jet's lipped curled into a smile. The boy's face was a mess of leechy nut shells and some sort of exotic, sticky goo that he didn't especially want to wonder about. His belly was fuller than the other boys and his face was slightly chunky. His eyes were very thin, as if he was constantly squinting. Jet wondered over this.

"You don't see very well, do you?"

Sneers stared at the dark boy for a moment, blinking his squinted eyes twice.

"I see alright," he mumbled. Jet smirked.

"Look down, Sneers."

Sneers did as he was told and gasped, horrified to discover that Jet's dagger was hovering, pointed indifferently at his thick-skinned chest. Jet allowed him one more moment of panic before taking the dagger away.

"Pay more attention, Sneers," he stated. He walked past the terrified boy who stood, gaping, and moved on to a pair of twins huddling close to each other.

"What about you? What're your names?"

At this point a toddler in the back began to cry, clutching to his older sister. She had raven black hair that fell thick and heavy across her shoulders and piercing, emerald eyes. She glared hatefully at Jet, his arrogance too complete and annoying for her to bear. Furious, she snatched the stick away from Pipsqueak and approached the dark boy with an air of absolute mutiny. Jet, intent on interrogating the twins, failed to notice her. This played well into the hands of the girl and she raised the stick above him, fully prepared to bring it crashing down upon his scalp.

There was a thud and the stick fell to the ground. Longshot, loyal to his eccentric partner, knocked the stick from her grasp and pointed between her eyes with the tip of the arrow.

Jet turned, walked up beside Longshot, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He identified the girl instantly as being the group's informal leader, and knew, just as instantly, that he needed to replace her.

"And what's your name?"

She glared spitefully at him, but Longshot's arrow was still pointed between her eyes. Any outlet of frustration would cause her more harm than her antagonist. Instead, she threw her words towards him like spears coated in venom.

"Who do you think you are, you – you obnoxious, cruel –"

To her astonishment, Jet silenced her by stepping towards her and bending down on one knee. He acknowledged her superiority and bowed his head, and she stared at him like he was a three-headed goat.

"I meant no harm. I think we can help each other. Do you lead them?"

The girl seemed to struggled for her voice and lose terribly. Her brother piped up from the back.

"We don't have a leader. We're looking for mommy."

Jet had wanted that answer and he got it. The girl nodded her agreement, still stunned by Jet's swift change in mood and suddenly respectful attitude. He stood and backed away from her with a gracious bow that was completely uncharacteristic for a nearly ten-year old boy. Longshot lowered the arrow and shouldered his bow, still burdened by its weight but growing more accustomed to it. He watched Jet (as did everyone else within a fifty feet of him) as he jumped up on a rotten stump and raised his voice to address the crowd of children.

"My name's Jet. I want to fight the Fire Nation. To make them pay for what they did to – us. I've got a plan how to do it, but to make it work you'll have to follow me."

The children looked warily at each other, considerably mistrusting this random, dark stranger with the dagger and the loyal archer. Jet knew exactly what they were thinking and didn't let them speak – especially the girl with the raven hair. He was determined to seal his fate – or, what he believed to be, The Fire Nation's fate.

"They killed your families," he roared abruptly, and all murmurings ceased. Haunting memories enclosed each individual child and Jet watched them with careful interest. Longshot twirled his bow idly.

"They murdered your friends. They burned your homes. They took away everything you love and care for. Remember. You have to remember. We have to make them pay. Its only fair, its only right. It's the right thing to do. All you have to do is follow me. You won't have to make decisions, you won't have to worry about getting hurt. You can help defeat the Fire Nation. You can help stop them from hurting anyone else. All you have to do is follow me. Remember why you're here."

There was a long pause in which Jet's words hovered in the air, seeping slowly into the children's thoughts darkness was mist. Sneers seemed on the verge of tears, though crying would probably help was the waste on his face. Pipsqueak stepped forward and stared straight at jet with big, trusting eyes.

"You mean, we'd be heros?"

Jet smiled and nodded in a slow, persuasive fashion. The boy stared at him awhile longer before breaking out into a very relieved smile.

"You're strong, like my dad was. He fought the Fire Nation too."

He turned and looked at the other kids, practically beaming with confidence. The feeling was intoxicating, and several others began to relax, even the girl. He turned back to Jet and Longshot, who were smiling victoriously.

"I'll follow you, Jet. You'll be good to us. I trust you."


	9. Obedience

Jet was breathing hard, struggling to gain composure, his shoulders shaking visibly beneath his shirt. His right arm was wrapped in a bloody shred of gray fabric, the wound still fresh and pulsing. There was a cut beneath his right eye but he paid no heed to either of the wounds. He was furious, wrathful, his eyes raging with dark fires of unquenchable anger.

"This is what happens," he snarled viciously. Then his fists clenched and he thrashed violently through the air, repeating it through a scream.

"THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS."

The children trembled before his rage, knowing full well that he was absolutely right. And that, of course, meant they had been absolutely wrong.

The were sitting in a clearing beneath a maze of tree-top houses, cowering from Jet's anger, trembling from what they had done. They could not look at each other; they were terrified and ashamed, weighted with so much sudden guilt it was impossible to feel anything but dejection. Longshot was leaning against a tree, an arrow twirling lightly in his hand, his gaze smoldering above a blood-stained shirt. Jet roared, spun, and slammed his fist into a tree, his eyes flooding with tears. The children across from him winced and began to cry.

Lying delicately on the earth between them lay the fresh, burned corpse of a ten-year-old girl.

* * *

It had been one year, almost exactly, since Jet's meeting with the stray children. The transfer had not been easy - but it was the smartest thing Jet had ever done. Several children disliked Pipsqueak's decision to follow this dark, fearsome boy with the captivating eyes (including the girl Jet had interrogated) but majority ruled in favor of this new leader. Even at their young age they sensed the great cunning and intellect of this superior, and - though his motives were never fully understood by the children - the idea of heroism was too tempting to their imaginations. Seldom did these toddlers think of revenge, for it was a concept foreign to them and incomprehensible - but for Jet, it was his basic code of life. 

The desire for repentance consumed Jet, spurred him to dispense judgement, devoured him with the thought of bloody revenge, threatened insanity whenever he closed his eyes. Of all the children only Longshot had the vaguest idea of Jet's bordering bloodlust, and even he believed him to be a knight for good. Jet hid his emotion well - so well, in fact, that sometimes he himself forgot it.

The presence of other children, for example, seemed to silence his rage, if only for a short while. He took up, once again, the games he and his friends had played; games long forgotten in his months of solitude, games he had tried to give up after bloody murderers and terrifying Agni Kai's. He played endless tournaments of Hide and Seek with the toddlers in the evenings; he passed peaceful hours carving animals from wood with Longshot; he dripped Leechy Nut juice into the girls hair with Sneers. For brief moments Jet had the ignorant freedom of the eleven-year old boy he was meant to be; freedom that, when it all added up in the end, came at an unbearable price.

He immediately began instructing them on ways of stealth and cunning; things of which he still knew little, but was avidly learning. Each day the children were required to creep as close to the Fire Nation settlement as possible without drawing any attention to themselves. Jet himself could walk up behind an Admiral unseen, for he had often haunted the place and stolen food when the soldier's backs were turned. The other children, however, were unskilled in such matters and Jet was quite often driven to madness with their incessant failure. Little by little, though, they became better; and little by little, they began to realize the enormous weight of their new lifestyle.

Food came first. A slightly older boy named Tushur contributed the idea of setting traps for animals - something that, had they the materials, would have worked. Unfortunately, they did not have the materials. But the Fire Nation did.

Sneers, always in search of food, discovered one crisp autumn day that a squirrel had abandoned its Leechy Nuts for some obscure and unknown reason. Overjoyed at his discovery, he leapt upon them with his empty stomach growling. To his immediate dismay, gravity took away his snack and left him hanging twenty feet above the forest floor, ensnared in an iron cage.

Eventually, Jet sent a search party and they found him, very forlorn looking, among the branches. They were hesitant to cut him loose since it was such a hilarious joke, but - in the end - Longshot raised his heavy bow (which he had been practicing with day-in and day-out) and cut him loose. They took Sneers back to camp, as well as the trap, which was quickly put to use and provided them with a much better fare than handfuls of nuts.

* * *

The events which led to the girl's death were marked chiefly by the sudden rapid success and growing skill of each child as they developed into the silent, cunning league of Freedom Fighters. Among them, the girl - Mayia - whom Jet had fancied as a rival, was, soon enough, becoming just that. 

There were no weapons besides Jet's dagger and Longshot's bow, but this deficiency was soon remedied. Gathering his best thieves - Sneers, Pipsqueak, and Longshot - he traveled to the ruins of his village, curbing the screams of his mother that threatened to echo in his ears.

It was the dead of night and the camp was eerily silent. A fire was crackling near a wooden house, built by the soldiers and now inhabited by Fire Nation civilians. Snores crept through tents and houses every now and then, but this only lowered Jet's suspicion of their awakening. He had made a pact with himself to kill at least two of Fire Nation before leaving again, something he often did on missions such as these; it made him feel stronger, it made him feel like the righteous redeemer of lost lives. For as long as he lived, he would never look on one of Fire Nation without hatred - and in these early years, still subject to his emotions, he temper was most dangerous.

Longshot abruptly tapped his shoulder as they neared the clearing and pointed behind them. His pale face was emotionless, but Jet could practically read his thoughts by now and his eyes fell behind him with faint anger.

"I told you all to wait at camp!" he hissed angrily. Situated in the shadows, almost all of the others had assembled in a collective group, and they were being none too quiet. One of the children burped loudly and Pipsqueak, sensing Jet's fury, clapped a hand across his mouth. At the head of all the children stood Mayia, grinning.

"You need more help. Weapons are heavy, and it'll be more sufficient to have one trip and get all of them out, than to have many trips and risk discovery," she snapped quietly, glaring at Jet with equal wit. Jet felt like snarling but knew it would be bad for his reputation.

_Remember why you fight. She is your ally. She is trying to help._

"If we send to many in, it will be too noisy," he said lowly, watching the camp with rising uneasiness. "And I told you to stay and work on those rope ladders. If we carry out all the weapons at once, they'll be suspicious. A few at a time would be best. Go back."

The girl glared at him through the darkness, her eyes glinting.

"No. We want to be in on the fun too."

Jet hissed between his teeth and Longshot reached instinctively for his arrow. Behind them, a man had come out of the house and was crouching in front of the fire. The red light glinted faintly off of his armor-plated chest.

"I said, go back," he said. His voice was even, but it carried a hint of threat. "You made me your leader. Now do what I say."

Mayia huffed indigently. Indigently, and loudly. The man at the fire paused and slowly looked in their direction. They were still shadowed by the darkness, but the small children were now making a rustle, fidgeting wildly from anxiety. The man stood slowly and began to walk towards them, hand lit to flame.

Jet felt Longshot's hand on his shoulder and sensed his urgency. Spinning, he looked wildly through the trees and saw the dark form approaching them. Cursing, he nodded to Longshot, who strung the arrow to his bow. This was a rule made between them long months ago; if an enemy got too close to either of them, kill it. No questions, no captives.

"Go back. Now," he snarled, so softly she barely caught his words. Mayia, still set on rivaling Jet's unabated and unquestioned power, hissed and began to talk very loudly, not noticing the soldier.

"You can't treat us this way, we deserve to have a say in the things that go on! How do we know you won't dictate over us -"

"You made me your leader! You said you would trust my decisions! You vowed to follow me!"

"You're not a good leader - !"

She leapt towards Jet, but Jet saw it coming and swung to the side just in time. Her foot caught his and they fell, simultaneously, into the dirt. Mayia grabbed desperately at forwards and grappled Longshot's shoulder; his fell heavily as his arm pulled back with a mighty snap, his arrow soaring into the sky. It landed, heavy and hard, at the feet of the soldier.

Jet saw it out of the corner of his eye and cursed again. Shoving Mayia away from him, he leapt desperately from the hedge and sped towards him. The soldier had a moment before the whirling wraith was upon him; but in that moment, he sealed their fate. With that one terrible word, Jet knew he couldn't hope to win.

"Ambush!"

Jet pulled the dagger from his throat but it was too late. A bell, somewhere afar off, started to ring. Jet started to run but nearly stumbled at the sound of it. It was a clear, merry ring, as though it was calling in an evening mass or wedding guests. It was beautiful, piercing, and altogether deadly. And jet recognized it, in all its terrible and wonderful glory.

It was the bell of his Temple.

The Temple they had burned.

The town they had burned.

_My family._

His eyes fell on the dead body of the soldier and he roared. Soldiers, running from their tents with flaming palms, heard it and shook. For a long while after that night, the rumor of a forest demon lingered among the people, spawned from Jet's furious roar. He was ripped with guilt, consumed with wrath, maddened by the sudden desire for revenge. The first soldier to near the dead body fell hard and viciously, screaming his death cry into a pair of demonic, dark eyes.

Jet killed two more soldiers in a row, hidden under the shadow of night, before he was hit. Whirling upon his third offender, he rammed the dagger ruthlessly through the man's temple, only to feel a searing pain etch across his arm. With his last gasp the demon had slid an identical dagger through the Jet's arm, and the boy howled and toppled, bleeding, to the earth. He lay there for a moment, unused to the pain, but almost instantly convinced himself to ignore it. He staggered from the ground with his bloody dagger, only to look up into the face a another devil. His face reared with flame, his head wreathed in smoke, his eyes burning like live coals. Jet had only an instant before the hard iron of the man's armored glove slashed across his face.

The ground met his face with a bolt of absolute torture. Jet coughed up dirt and struggled to his feet as the man lit his hand and prepared the deadly blow.

A great, heavy stone hit the back of his head and toppled forward towards a strange, pale boy with an arrow in his hand. The arrow found home in his heart and Longshot winced as the blood spurted forwards onto his clothes.

Pipsqueak - who had grown sufficiently in the last few months and was now taking on the appearance of his massive father - dropped the rest of his rocks and helped Jet to his feet. Mayia stood beside him and struggled to aid her wounded leader.

"I am sorry Jet, I -"

"Go!" he roared. His anger was too complete for them to subdue, his fury beyond words. He was glaring at her with a hatred he had before saved for the Fire Nation, a hatred that threatened both her life and his own. "You want so badly to be leader? Go! Take everyone back to camp. NOW."

She lost her balance, caught by his sudden wrath, and half-crawled towards the woods. Jet and Pipsqueak followed her, with Longshot spouting arrows behind them. The devils were advancing, though they knew not what they were fighting. The disaster, of course, came soon enough.

Jet, preoccupied with his fury and pain, did not see it until it was too late. Most of the children had already begun running back to camp, and Mayia was ushering the few who had stayed behind. A firebender - highly ranked, if the symbol on his chest proved true - leapt past the dark boy, who was still curtained by shadows. Mayia was yelling loudly an clearly visible, careless and ignorant, and Jet knew it.

He tore the dagger from its sheath and ran from Pipsqueak, yelling towards Mayia. She turned and her eyes grew wide.

Jet knew that moment. It was the moment when time stopped, when all life ceased to breathe. Sound lost its potency; screams were mute, and everything played out like a silent painting of moving color. Mayia's eyes grew wide, grew tearful. They were glistening from the fire's light, from the red heat of the demon's laughter...

The same way the blade had glistened in his mother's eyes.

Jet reached out and thrust his dagger into the soldier, sobbing. Then he pulled the blade back, let it glisten, and plunged it back into his unresisting, unholy, demonic body. The knife ripped his flesh twelve times before Pipsqueak could pull Jet away.

* * *

"This is what happens when you don't follow orders," he snarled, pulling his knuckles from the bark. His skin was torn viciously, but he was already riddled with cuts and he didn't very well care. Longshot was gazing out beneath the shade of his hat. 

"She's DEAD," he roared. Several children jumped at this statement and trembled violently. Jet was too furious to care for there feelings, too furious to care for their conscience, too furious to care about anything.

"Do you know why she's dead?" he yelled, pointing accusingly at the charred body. "Do you know why? Because of you! Because you made me your leader, and you didn't listen to me! This is what happens when you don't follow orders! Remember this! Remember why you follow me! Remember the Fire Nation! Remember why you fight!"

He gestured wildly towards the children and they shrunk away. Jet stood silent for a moment, bringing his thoughts into line. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, fueled by his confusion, fueled by his grief, fueled by the slaughter. He turned away from them all and left them to stare at her hideous body.

He felt a tapping on his arm and spun fiercely. The little boy shrank away, but he had been toughened by his new life and did not run. Jet glared at him until he stuttered his.

"We - we will n-never disobey you again, J-Jet."

The girl's little brother was gazing up at him, his eyes shining with unwept tears. Jet softened slowly at the sight and bent down onto his knees. He gazed at the boy for a long time.

"What is your name?"

The little boy sniffed. His cheeks were labeled with identical twin lines, painted in red paste. His bushy brown hair fell thick about his eyes and he had a lean, almost snakelike quality.

"Bi Lin...but Mayia used to call me SmellerBee."

* * *

Jet swallowed as he finished carving the Earth kingdom symbol into the oak wood. Beneath his breathe he chanted a prayer of thanksgiving - the same one he had chanted the night Fire Nation attacked - and thrust the point of the stick into the ground above the girl's grave. It was the only prayer he knew, and he hoped it would suffice the Earth Spirit into laying the girl's soul to rest. 

The children had dispersed to their usual tasks, doing everything possible to keep their mind off of the tragedy. There was no time for sorrow, no time for grief. They had finally realized the consequences of fighting, the consequences of heroism, the consequences of disobedience. Jet alone stared at the grave, emptying himself of any and all emotion. He could not become emotional. He could not relent to grief. He could only reap repentance. For her, for his family, for the lives lost to the devils that lived beyond the trees.

_Remember why you fight._

He felt a familiar tug at his wrist and turned to see SmellerBee. His eyes were red from crying and Jet struggled to keep his emotions in check.

"It's ok. She's gone to join the Earth Spirit..."

"That's not it, Jet," whispered the boy quietly. His eyes darted to the grave constantly, but he was taking after his leader's example and hiding his sorrow. "We want to say sorry. We got you something. It was the only thing we got from the soldier's camp."

Longshot, Pipsqueak, and Sneers stepped forward and Jet hesitated. The little boy turned to the pale-faced archer and held out his hands as though receiving a precious gift. Longshot relented and handed him a long, thin bundle, with the word "For Jet" scribbled on its packaging. SmellerBee handed it to him with a soft, hopeful smile, and Jet took it, bewildered.

The wrapping fell away and Jet stared at the gleaming metal, the breathtaking precision, the sudden arc of a razor hook. He gripped each handle with trembling fingers and twirled them in a flash of sudden glamor; the blades made a snapping noise as they hissed through the air and he returned them to a stationary post.

He smiled at SmellerBee, still gripping the Twin Tiger-Head Hook Swords, and knelt down to his knee again. He placed one sword upon the ground and reached to his side, pulling out the Fire Nation dagger. Without a word, he handed it to him.

Jet stood up and SmellerBee stared hungrily at the knife. Then the two looked at each other for a long moment. Jet, straight and tall, his red tunic littered with shreds of armor, his eyes piercing dark from behind his black hair, the shadows embracing him like his own personal Spirit guardians. And SmellerBee, his eyes drying and turning to black, the snaked dagger twisting in his eager palm, his hair clouding his face in a mirror of Jet's own.

Jet put a hand on his shoulder while Longshot looked on, ever silent and loyal. Pipsqueak closed his eyes and looked downwards in quiet prayer and Sneers sniffed sadly. SmellerBee felt Jet's hand and clenched the dagger tightly.

"I will always remember," he whispered.


	10. Progression

The months passed evenly. Time neither slowed or sped for Jet's Fighters; it moved constantly at rate influenced only by the rising and setting of the sun. There were no quarrels among them now; no uprising against the absolute authority of Jet. He was a god among them, a sage descended from on high to rescue them from the bleak emptiness of what their lives would have been. Each progressed at his own pace, each child with his own certain strength and skill; this Jet recognized, and worked long nights in training with each of them, determined for a flawless army.

His old Earth Kingdom village was now a thriving Fire Nation town. The soldiers dug deeper and deeper into the valley to build homes for the rising population; trees were harvested and earth was torn up; pillars of Fire Nation Temples rose into the sky. Markets, almost identical to the one's of Jet's long-forgotten town, teemed with merchants and vendors. Carts loaded with Fire Nation spices pushed down lanes with bells tinkling on them; produce stands with red peppers, squash, tomatoes, and cabbage littered roadsides; metal-workers and blacksmiths were high at work producing weapons, horseshoes, and armor; children ran through soldiers legs in efforts to reach the square, where women sold Fire-Drop candies for a copper piece each. Nearing Jet's fourteenth birthday (though such things as birthdays were long forgotten among them) a team of engineers began work on a large dam to hold off the flow of a river to the North of the valley. Obviously, they feared a flood; so, in an attempts to stem the river's flow, they dumped mounds of earth and rock into the river beds, leaving a bare creek between two banks of solid ground. Steam vents rose from beneath the covered water, but the river was no longer a threat. Finally, a heavy wodden wall was erected at the base of the river, and all hopes of a flood were dashed.

Jet knew this very well, as did the other children. They stayed up long hours spying on the actions of the Fire Nation, determined to be its ruin. Soldiers were positioned around the village, as well as inside, where they were raising families of their own. Supply lines from the Fire Nation were mapped out by Jet and SmellerBee, who went on long journey's together through unmarked territories. Longshot, whose eyes saw farther than the others, studied the actions of Fire Nation troops from among the trees. Sometimes, Jet would send young children into the town to collect information; but mostly, with his twin hooked swords at the ready, he studied the town masters from the shadows.

He hardly slept. He stole scrolls from soldier's tents containing fighting moves and stances that he had never heard of before. When an Earth Kingdom soldier was captured and held in jail, Jet studied his fighting tactics as he dueled with other prisoners. A practice of the soldiers was to watch outsiders - namely their prisoners - duel for their freedom. Each was given a weapon of choice, and when the gong was struck the tournament began. The winner would receive a free pass to outside lands and pardon from the soldiers. The loser wouldn't receive anything, because no one gives gifts to a dead man.

At the first rumors of a prisoner's duel, Jet threw on a ragged cloak and sped immediately to the soldier's camp. From the shadows he studied both winner and loser, each kick and punch and flash of blade; and when it was all over he crept back to his hideout and practiced and practiced until he could duplicate the moves perfectly.

As Jet progressed, so did the other children. Taking from his example they labored painfully for long hours over their fighting styles and weapons, ultimately becoming consumed with their own private skills as they grew into young warriors.

Pipsqueak, when he had first joined the Fighters, had been slightly younger than Jet and hardly half his height; but he soon sought, vigilantly, to live up to his father's stature. During autumn a group of three girls joined the Jet's gang and brought with them a more efficient way of fishing; using animal hair and spare string they sewed a net, both larger and stronger than Jet's own, and caught multitudes of various-sized fish, which they cooked over dim fires made from brush and stolen flint. This source of protein was most effective on Pipsqueak, especially since he devoured a vast majority of what was caught. He was captured in a sudden growth spurt that lasted into mid-winter, where he finally ceased growing after towering a full foot over Jet. His newly-acquired height grew more complete as he developed a boulder-like body, compliments of laboring incessantly in the trees to help build the Fighter's hideout. At night he amused himself by lifting heavy stones and logs, as well as wrestling with Sneers - the only other Fighter who could match him in strength.

As his muscles turned to iron, Jet offered to raid a nearby supply line and find him a good bashing club; but Pipsqueak refused. He preferred, he stated, to fight with natural strength and weapons. His father had never used blade or club, and neither would he. He chose heavy logs and stones, as well as his own physical strength - something Jet respected, but never copied.

Longshot's silent tongue and perfect gaze was, from the beginning, a herald to his abilities. After strengthening his muscles with Jet and Pipsqueak, he was finally able to comfortably lift his father's bow, which now remained light in his hand. He carved his own shafts for arrows and sharpened rocks for their points. Sometimes, Jet would steal a few steel arrowheads from a Fire Nation tent and give them to him as a present. These arrows Longshot saved for important fights and ambushes, for they struck with more deadly force and sank deeper into flesh. Day in and day out Longshot trained himself, obsessed with matching the great YuuYan archers of legend. He painted targets on trees a hundred meters away, clouded by branches and leaves, and did not stop firing until he had hit a hundred bulls-eyes. He used strong string that took more effort to pull back, but fire with such precision that the extra effort was worth it. He polished the wood and shined his arrows, never ending a day without seeing his face reflected in their surface. When he had mastered archery in a standing position, Jet suggested other positions.

Longshot soon found himself running parallel to Jet through dense trees trying to pierce an apple on his head; when he had mastered that, Jet jumped up and down through trees holding a wooden shield with a target upon it; and after Longshot could hit the mark then, he zigzagged among the oaks as Longshot hung upside down from a tree branch and cut a sword from his hand without hitting the flesh itself. After five months, the pale-faced archer could hit a fly, buzzing in zig-zags through tangled trees, while dangling by his knees on a limb. Jet took up archery for awhile, but knowing Longshot's unsurpassed skill he never saw it as more than an idle pastime.

SmellerBee developed with such rapid and unrivaled success that even Jet was amazed. He never chose a single weapon, besides the dagger which he always carried with him, but instead chose an endless variety of knives, swords, clubs, blades, hooks, daggers, throwing stars, logs, and even certain explosives. He tutored himself in the use of any weapon he could lay hands on. Broadswords were heavy, but he could manage them well enough; daggers were easy, and he never faltered with one in his grip; straight swords he found challenging, but he learned to cut and stab and kill with them quiet quickly. Arrows and throwing stars he could fire, but never quite so well as Longshot, and his strength did not match Pipsqueak's with logs and clubs. Blasting jellies he soon specialized in after several experiments with a stolen batch. He knew how much to use for which jobs, how much fire and barrels would be needed, and how big the blast would be. His input was always welcome to Jet, but it was Jet whom received the most respect.

Jet, choosing no other weapon than his tiger-hook swords, trained nearly every day with SmellerBee. The young warrior, through skilled in many arts of weaponry, could never measure up to his leader. Months of watching duels and fights had taught Jet much about the rules of combat, as well as fatal mistakes he should avoid. At the end of each session, SmellerBee was always the one on the ground with his weapon tossed away. But this only increased his reverence of Jet, and the dark-haired boy grew to be a tall and powerful leader.

It was one late night, as SmellerBee, Pipsqueak, and himself were returning from a training session, they discovered something burrowing its way into a barrel of jellied candies. Stray children (not of Fire Nation, of course) had often joined their group over the course of the years, though they were all still too young to be learning how to fight. This child, however, did not simply stumble onto their hideout as so many had done. He was digging fiercely into their food stores and Jet, half-amused and half-curious, grabbed his ankle and pulled him out upside down.

"Hey SmellerBee, I caught a possum," he said jokingly as the child dangled in the air, too surprised to scream. SmellerBee pulled the dagger from his side and wavered it casually.

"Should we kill him and eat him, Jet?"

"No. Possums are bony."

"Lemme go!"

The child had finally found voice and Jet shrugged, dropping the young child. To his surprise he flipped and landed delicately on his feet like some sort of untamed cat. Pipsqueak seemed enamored by him and bent down.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Why're you stealing our food, kid?" Jet added, pointing to the empty barrels. The small boy trembled beneath the massive Pipsqueak and stuttered.

"I - I was h-hungry..."

"Ok, now answer my question," said Pipsqueak quickly, still taken with the quivering kid. "What's your name?"

The child stared at the smiling kids and slowly relaxed. He had sensed something strange about them but immediately ignored it, seeing the amused glint in the older's children's eyes.

"I'm the Duke! I'm quick and I can ride better than anyone!" he declared loudly. SmellerBee rolled his eyes and Pipsqueak laughed. Jet, all business, bent down and stared at him.

"Where you from, Duke?"

The Duke's ego faded almost instantly. He looked down at the ground shamefully, and Jet sensed his answer.

"Nevermind, Duke. How'd you like to stop stealing our food and stay with us? We're a pretty big family now, and if you can ride as well as you say, you could help us out."

With his team full and assembled, the major disruptions of the Fire Nation began when Jet was around fifteen. Hungry for revenge, yet softened by the company of others, he sought to increase the Fire Nation's misery with all his might.

With the help of his Freedom Fighters he began cutting their supply lines. Carts bearing food, weapons, wood, armor, cloth, animals - nothing escaped them. Longshot took out their drivers from ten yards away while Pipsqueak and Sneers overturned heavy loads. SmellerBee distracted the soldiers with his whirling fury and skill, slitting their throats after meaningless dances beneath their fire blasts. The Duke dropped from branches on soldiers helmets and steered them off cliffs or into Pipsqueak's waiting arms.

Jet began and ended each attack. No one moved except at his signal, and no one ran unless he gave the order to retreat. Anything recovered was immediately referred to him. Supplies were distributed as he saw fit; tree-houses were built only with his permission; and any plan, no matter how obscure or ridiculous, was followed without question. There was no room for rebelling in their life, and Jet was fair with them, so there was no reason for quarrel.

He knew of the opportunities the dam held even before the Avatar showed up. But when the three travelers stumbled into his realm, he finally had his chance. He could finally get revenge - on all of them.

He had killed many soldiers and slain many of Fire Nation, but when he saw the young Air Nomad walk into the Fire Nation camp they had been watching all morning, he smiled. He bloodlust had once again become dry, and he practically dying to quench it.


	11. The Avatar Appears

Jet watched the three stumble blindly through the bushes knowing full well what they were going to find. His dark eyes were shadowed by his overgrown hair, which crept across his face in a breathtakingly handsome way. His skin was perhaps darker, his muscles perhaps harder, his height perhaps grown since those many years ago on that fateful and life-changing night; but his heart remained, stubbornly, the same. He killed Fire Nation soldiers on a routine basis, and he enjoyed it to an endless degree. His blind savagery lingered in his gaze like a phantom, hidden only by thin layers of midnight shadow ad his own artful cunning. He was seventeen now, and even in this maturing age he held, within his dark and fearsome eyes, memories that he forced himself never to forget.

They were memories of buildings, burning in unbearable hell fires lighted by legions of horned, laughing demons; memories of wrenched screams that echoed from the pits of an unholy, ravished underworld; memories of bloody, mutilated, misshapen bodies, charred black from the flames of Devil servants; memories of men possessed by demonic forces, memories of a decapitated soldier, his pitiful, stabbed excuse for a son, the still convulsing body of his wife. The memory of Mayia as her eyes burned to a horrible, pulsing white from the fatal flame. The memory of his mother's head rolling towards the feet of a smiling Devil as her body fell, cold and red, to the earth.

_Remember why you fight._

He would take revenge. He would never let the Fire Nation hurt anyone else ever again.

He bent low on his tree limb and nodded to Longshot, who was situated on a lower branch across from him. The older boy of the traveling trio - whom Jet immediately identified as the greatest, yet most clueless threat of the group - was walking through the bushes, completely disregarding the rustle of the Fire Nation camp several feet in front of him. Jet, eager after long hours of waiting, raised a make-shift bow and watched the scene with calm and collected ease.

"...Look, guys, I'm tired too...but the important thing is that we're safe from the Fire...Nation..."

The three walked full-on into the clearing and the soldiers turned and stared at them. Several were still finishing breakfast and stopped chewing to stare at the unwelcome arrivals; men with spears grew wide-eyed at the intrusion and the General, whose right eye was covered with a black patch, stared in complete surprise. Jet tensed and notched an arrow in his bow, only to hear the older boy yell.

"Run!"

They dropped their packs and sped back the way they had come, but the soldiers were up and after them in a brilliant flash. Swords were taken up with practiced hands and the General, whose mind functioned faster than an arrow, sent a swift stream of fire flashing past the boy's shoulder. It ignited the bush behind them and they stopped short. Jet stared fixedly at the General, waiting for his moment. Pipsqueak tensed in the shadows with SmellerBee; The Duke and Sneers readied themselves. Longshot drew his arrows.

"We're cut off!" yelled the boy. The younger boy - bald and tattooed, which Jet found strange but carelessly ignored - pointed abruptly to his arm.

"Sokka! You're shirt!"

The older boy gasped fearfully, and then something happened that completely captured Jet's attention. The girl - quiet until now, and seemingly harmless - opened the flask she held at her side and bent a small amount of water through the air, slashing the boy's shirt and dousing the flames. For a second, Jet's mind turned and clicked; then he fell back to the task at hand and raised the bow.

The soldiers surrounded them in a semicircle that was completed by the roaring fire. Spears were pointed at them and the tattooed boy and the girl fell back into bender stance. Jet's dark eyes fixated on the General's heavily-armored back as he walked towards them. The older boy stepped forward and held out his arms.

"If you let us pass, we promise not to hurt you," he declared. Jet smiled amusingly at this. The Fire Nation General laughed as the girl and the boy whispered uneasily to each other. Jet fixed his mark on the General as he began to speak, his dark eyes glimmering with bloodthirsty anticipation.

_Time to be a hero._

"You? Promise not to hurt us?"

There was a soft whistle and a faint gasp escaped the General's lips. He crumpled to his knees and fell forward with the arrow sticking guiltily from his back. The younger boy stared and smiled.

"Nice work Sokka! How'd you do that?"

"Uh...instinct?"

"Look!"

The girl had spotted him, which obviously made her a lot more clever than those dim-witted Fire Nation soldiers, and everyone turned towards him. He dropped the bow an unsheathed his blades, smiling and eager. Weightless, he leapt from the branch, caught it with the hooks and swung beneath it. He landed perfectly on two soldiers and barreled them into the earth, his eyes growing dark and terrifying, his elation vanishing as he fell to his true task: judgement. He threw the memory of his mother in his face and his anger tore through him with a fierce and painful vengeance.

He did not pause to meditate over his victory, but sped towards two others who raised theirs hands in vain defense. Jet ducked low and swept the blades around their ankles and caught them both off their feet. Leaping, he flipped in mid-air and sent them hurtling towards the dead General, landing perfectly on his feet, crouched low and grinning from behind the twig in his teeth.

"Down you go."

He heard the man coming and spun with unrivaled skill, deflecting his ill-aimed spear and sending him flying head over heels across his left shoulder. As he flew past another soldier the other Fire Nation devils looked up and caught sight of the others just as the decided to join in on the fun.

"They're in the trees! -"

The Duke fell heavily on his head and silenced him, riding him like a bucking horse around the clearing. Longshot released his arrows and swords fell to the earth like metal rain; he swung himself upside down on his branch and aimed two arrows across the clearing, quickly relieving a pair of soldiers of their weapons. As they ran from the spot Sneers dropped down from a neighboring oak and spun another soldier across him, sending his blade flying harmlessly to the ground while his body spun in the opposite direction. SmellerBee, eager and deadly, fell to the earth in trained silence, the dagger clenched in his steady fist. He did not observe the formalities of knocking the men out or fighting them with strength; he simply leapt at their throats and slit them before they could slit his.

Jet did not have to worry about his Fighters, so he turned his attention to the girl and the tattooed boy. To his amazement, not only was the girl waterbending with some practiced skill, but the bald boy was airbending with what Jet recognized, even then, as complete and irrefutable mastery. Unfortunately, the third traveler seemed to have no bender capabilities; in fact, Jet found him as a hardly adequate warrior. He raised his boomerang defensively and yelled very loudly, running rather slowly towards a Fire Nation soldier. Jet leapt onto his hook-swords and kicked hard in the man's side, sending him flying from the warrior's reach. The action seemed to particularly irritate him.

"Hey! He was mine!"

"Gotta be quicker next time," Jet grinned, running to find his next victim.

Pipsqueak, finally making an appearance, fell down heavily from his branch behind two terrified soldiers who raised their swords into feeble fighting positions. The gigantic teenager swung out his great log and crushed the weak metal with one blunt and decisive blow. The soldiers stumbled backwards and broke out into a run, causing Jet to smile amusingly. It was half a second before he heard the footstep behind him.

He turned and caught the man's spears between the two hooks. The man's strength was great, but it could not rival the infamous Jet. Twisting sideways he freed one of his own blades and knocked out the stunned man, sending the butt of his spear flying into a nearby soldier. The hit knocked him out and the warrior boy, holding a heavy club now, seethed as his enemy was defeated.

Jet heard a second man come behind him and barely deflected the blow; the spear whistled past his face and the man stumbled by, placing himself in fighting stance, face to face with Jet. He lunged, and Jet's blades caught his spear; using the shaft as a ladder he ran upwards and leapt, kicking the man in the back of the head as he went, and stumbled forwards only to stop, just in time, before the waterbending girl.

"Hey," he whispered evenly.

"Hi," the girl responded, breathless. Simultaneously they turned to see the Fire Nation camp, completely deserted of its former inhabitants. Jet, standing rather regally before them, studied the remains as the tattooed boy walked up behind him.

"You just took out a whole army almost single-handed!" he stated, his voice filling with awe. The warrior boy huffed and crossed his arms.

"Army? There were only like, twenty guys!" he said indignantly. Jet ignored him and turned around.

"My name is Jet, and these are my Freedom Fighters," he stated. He gestured towards the others.

"Sneers, (who was devouring the soldier's leftover breakfast) Longshot, (he looked up when his name was spoken), SmellerBee, (he raised two Fire Nation blades and sliced them expertly) The Duke, and Pipsqueak (they fidgeted when their names were called)."

The tattooed boy walked up to the Duke and smiled boldly, laughing.

"Pipsqueak, heh, that's a funny name!"

The Duke sniffed, ignoring the comment since it was not directed at him, and Pipsqueak leaned forward, glaring intensely beneath thick eyebrows.

"You think my name is funny?" he snarled. The boy stared for a moment and then gathered himself again.

"Its hilarious!"

There was a slight pause, and Pipsqueak burst out into sudden laughter. The Duke joined in and his massive companion slapped the tattooed bow on the back, unwillingly causing him to collapse to the ground, where he continued to laugh despite the pain in his back.

Across the campsite, the warrior was glaring at the Freedom Fighters as they carried boxes towards a cart and began to load them up. The girl walked nervously over to Jet, who was watching from his shadowed position, leaning against a tree.

"Um...thanks for saving us, Jet," she said, nearly blushing. "We're lucky you were there."

"I should be thanking you," said Jet, turning on his cunning charm. "We were waiting to ambush those soldiers all morning; we just needed the right distraction. And then you guys stumbled in."

"We were following instinct," she said, her voice hinting a note of disdain. Jet smiled.

"You'll get yourself killed doing that," said Jet encouragingly. His gaze fell into hers and she turned away in slight embarrassment. The Duke's voice drifted towards them.

"Hey Jet! These barrels are filled with blasting jelly."

Jet noted to himself that today was an absolutely great day.

"That's a great score," he said, his voice never revealing any emotion. Emotion led to weakness; weakness led to defeat. He had trained himself to be emotionless.

"And these boxes are filled with jellied candy!" exclaimed Pipsqueak. Jet could hear his massive stomach growling even from fifteen feet away.

"Also good. Let's not get those mixed up," he joked, smiling softly. The Duke jumped into the back of the cart and gestured towards the woods, clearly intent on leaving.

"Let's take this stuff back to the hideout," he said. The airbender boy lighted up at these words.

"You guys have a hideout?" he asked, his voice filling with wonder for the second time. Jet raised his eyebrow and leaned more into the tree, half-chewing his twig.

"You wanna see it?"

The waterbender girl clasped her hands together and leapt to his side.

"Yes we wanna see it!" she stated earnestly. Jet turned his dark gaze on her and softened his fearsome eyes. The effect was entrancing; his eyes melted into deep pools of sincerity and the girl nearly sighed. Jet grinned inwardly.

_That was too easy._


	12. False Trust

The trip back to the hideout was a casual one for the three travelers; but for jet, it was the beginning of his greatest victory.

The waterbending girl was Katara. She was mild-mannered around him and he sensed her attraction to his rogue-style. Not that he could blame her; among other things, Jet was also very arrogant. Most of the girls in his gang had a crush on him at one time or another, and though he was highly flattered and encouraged by this, he never returned their feelings. He had a natural charm and wit about him that hid his true motives quite well, and his fast-thinking was always a plus in sticky situations. Katara also seemed to dislike her brother, who was the only one suspicious of him. This also played perfectly into Jet's hands.

The airbender boy was Aang, and he was so enamored by Jet and his companions that Jet hardly fancied him a threat, even with his masterful bending skills. He seemed more inclined to devour jellied candy with Pipsqueak and throw spark pellets with The Duke than figure out what Jet's master-mind plan was. The goofy kid was also often agreeing with Katara, which meant two against one on Jet's side.

Sokka was very sour and moody. His motions bled dislike for both Jet and his Fighters, and whatever the charismatic boy said he would attempt to gather a rebuttal. When they reached the hideout, for example, Jet thought he'd have a little fun with his attitude and stopped in the vacant clearing without pointing up.

"We're here," he stated confidently. Sokka walked up next to him and looked around.

"Where? There's nothing here," he claimed. Jet grabbed a looped rope nearby and held it out to him, idly chewing the twig.

"Hold this."

Sokka took it and glared sourly at it. Jet grinned and closed his eyes.

"Why? What's this do -"

He let out a sudden yell as the loop wrapped around his wrist and hoisted him high into the trees. He got stuck among a few branches but was pulled through despite his struggles. Jet handed another rope to the airbender.

"Aang?"

"I'll get up on my own," he said. He leapt from the ground with wind whipping behind him and landed high in the trees, bouncing off branches until he, too, disappeared among the leaves. Jet turned to his admirer and held out his hand, flashing a charming smile and deepening his gaze.

"Grab hold of me, Katara."

Katara took his hand but nearly gasped when he spun her gracefully around and stopped her gently at his side. His cheek nudged hers and she blushed deeply, feeling him so close. His arm took her waist and she placed a hand on his chest as they were lifted up through the trees. Sighing into a smile, she relaxed and enjoyed the ride, looking up at Jet, who was smiling charmingly, his dark eyes hypnotizing. They fell onto the wooden platform of the nearest treehouse and Aang sped by on a rope course.

"Nice place you got!" he called distantly. Katara laughed and followed Jet as he walked to the platform's edge, the hideout coming into plain view. There were tents and platforms built in the crooks of tree branches, held together by rope ladders and bridges, all suspended in the very tops of the forest's tallest trees. The light of the sun glinted on the red leaves and cast a warm, inviting glow around the whole hideout; Katara saw it and stared in awe.

"Its beautiful up here," she whispered. Jet gazed at it all with a trained eye.

"Its beautiful, and, more importantly, the Fire Nation can't find us," he said.

"They'd love to find you, wouldn't they Jet?" said SmellerBee, leaping from his rope hook and landing beside Katara. Jet closed his eyes and grinned.

"It's not gonna happen, SmellerBee," he said as the others followed them. He led Katara to the bridge just as Sokka stumbled onto the platform beside Pipsqueak. He stumbled to catch up with the two, battling his way past Longshot and the Duke as he went.

"Why does the Fire Nation want to find you?" asked Katara, walking beside Jet as he led the way, his back straight and his posture demanding respect.

"I guess you could say...I've been causing them a little trouble," he said offhandedly. He didn't need to elaborate; his Fighters knew Jet's true heroism and would speak it for him. Though he was arrogant and full of himself, Jet never outwardly bragged. He let his Fighters do that for him. "See, they took over a nearby Earth kingdom town a few years back..."

"We've been ambushing their troops, cutting off their supply lines, and doing anything we can to mess with them!" stated Pipsqueak. Jet glared straight ahead, smiling, before turning to Katara.

"One day, we'll drive the Fire Nation out of here for good - and free that town," added Jet, struggling to keep his passion hidden. Hearing the words escape his own mouth was something uncommon; the mutual hatred the group harbored for the Fire Nation never needed to be spoken, and his lips threatened to tremble on at the actual sound. He regained himself and Katara seemed not to notice his underlying barbarity as she blushed again.

"That's so brave..." she whispered. Suddenly Sokka reached her and hissed angrily.

"Yeah, nothing's braver than a guy in a treehouse," he claimed bitterly. Katara turned and glared at him, though Jet remained undisturbed by his comment. The truth was, Jet found Sokka completely insignificant. He was ignored by his own sister and traveling friend, never taken seriously, and dug his hole even deeper with sarcastic remarks like that. Jet suspected he was jealous and, naturally, couldn't blame him. Katara frowned at Sokka.

"Don't pay any attention to my brother..."

"No problem. He probably had a rough day," he said. The two comments immediately put the warrior in his place and Sokka slunk back, grumbling. Jet, once again, remained undisturbed as Katara tried to liven the conversation again.

"So, you all live here?" she asked.

"That's right. Longshot over there?" he looked towards the loyal archer, who lowered his head at the memory Jet now repeated. "His town got burned down by the Fire Nation. And we found the Duke trying to steal our food," a forlorn look crept across the boy's face as Jet continued. "...I don't think he ever really had a home."

"And what about you?"

The question was very bold, but Katara did not know this. Jet stopped on the bridge and let the others pass by, contemplating his answer. He let the form of his mother flash across his face again. The bloody corpse of his father. The reason he fought.

"Fire Nation killed my parents. I was only eight years old. That day changed me forever."

Katara looked down, blindly unaware of the terrible truth his answer held.

"Sokka and I lost our mother to the Fire Nation," she admitted. Jet turned to her as they stood, side by side, on the bridge, sharing their pain. Pain brought by the Fire Nation.

"I'm so sorry, Katara."

_She'll understand. She'll understand why I'm doing this. Sokka will understand too, in time._

He put his hand on her shoulder and smiled as they stood, alone, upon the bridge. Taking courage from him, Katara followed after the others with Jet behind her. He watched her go and lowered his dark eyes dangerously.

It was perfect. It would all be over soon...two days, tops. Jet's fingers tightened eagerly on his hooked swords and he felt like laughing outright. The demons, whose hell fires consumed the barren earth, whose power choked the land and slew the innocent, would be gone. No one would ever again have to know the pain of losing everything they loved, the pain that haunted Jet each day with incessant vigor and made it impossible to sleep each night. All the soldiers he had killed throughout the years had built p to this moment. The moment the fire-devils were drowned in a righteous flood, released by the true heros - released by Jet.

* * *

The meal was about to begin and the children situated themselves around the main area. Girls dangled on branches and small boys, coated in paint and berry juice, jumped from tree to tree, seeking a clear view of the main dinner table. Jet's most loyal sat with him, along with Katara, Sokka, and Aang; cheers erupted around him into a rising chorus of "Speech! Speech! Speech!" and Jet stood. Pipsqueak was already wolfing down Leechy Nuts, but he looked up when Jet raised his cup.

"Today, we struck another blow against the Fire Nation swine!" he excalimed. Children raised there fists and cheered as Jet smiled, reminiscing. "I got a special joy from the look on one soldier's face, when the Duke dropped down on his helmet and rode him like a wild hog-monkey!"

The Duke leapt up on the table and circled a platter of fish, shaking his fists in the air victoriously. The crowd of children clapped and howled in support as Jet looked on, unfinished but patient. Once the Duke had taken his seat again, he continued with the rehearsed portion of his speech.

"Now, the Fire Nation thinks they don't have to worry about a couple of kids hiding in the trees...maybe they're right."

A loud, echoing boo thundered through the trees. Jet grinned and turned from his drink in sudden passion, his code of apathy forgotten.

"Or maybe...they're _dead wrong._"

His statement was meant as literal, but its true meaning was covered up by another deafening chorus of cheers. He fell back to his seat beside Katara, very impressed with himself, and took a drink from his cup. Katara and Aang were beaming.

"Hey, Jet. Nice speech," she said encouragingly. Jet nodded and grinned.

"Thanks. By the way, I was really impressed with you and Aang. That was some great bending I saw out there today," truthfully, he believed it was; but he also wanted to lay on the compliments and get them both on his side. Katara glanced at Aang before looking down and blushing.

"Well, he's great. He's the Avatar. I...could use some more training."

Jet's mind clicked again, ever swift and cunning, registering the heavy weight of her words and the wonderful future they held. The Avatar. This was going to be easier than he thought. His attitude, however, he kept very even and smooth, as always.

"Avatar, huh? Very nice."

_For both of us._

"Thanks Jet!" piped Aang. Jet grinned. All he had to do now was ask.

"So I might know a way that you and Aang can help in our struggle -"

"Unfortunately, we have to leave tonight," said Sokka suddenly. Jet looked at the ground for half a second, seeing his plan slip away, and then realized what the warrior wanted.

"Sokka, you're kidding me! I needed you on an important mission tomorrow..."

The warrior boy stopped and Jet suppressed a grin. He was hooked.

"...what mission?"


	13. Two Out of Three

Jet didn't particularly like scouting jobs, but it was the only 'mission' he could figure out quick enough to persuade Sokka into staying. He told the anxious warrior that he had been spying on other scattered camps much like the one they had ambushed; he claimed to have heard rumors of Fire Nation sending in an assassin to poison their water supplies. Sokka didn't quite believe him at first, but luckily SmellerBee joined the conversation moments later and indulged them in a fabulous tale of the last assassin to cross Jet's path. The fight had been ultimately short, and it ended with a hilarious view of the man hanging upside from a tree limb with most of his armor and clothing missing.

In the end, Sokka agreed to stay one more night. But even with his victory bordering the horizon, Jet didn't get his usual two hours of sleep. He was almost entirely convinced that Sokka, who had also felt the destruction and evil of the Fire Nation, would see it his way with a little convincing. Jet could not comprehend such a thing as forgiveness, for forgiveness came with peace, and his early years had too often been shattered by blood and misery to know such a feeling. He lived in a constant memory of death and cruelty, building up the image of Fire Nation demons that rode through cities like hell's angels, raining fire from the heavens and slaying the righteous with one flick of a flame-coated wrist. The dead he no longer mentioned by name. His parents, though flashing through his gaze as a never-ending reminder, lay nameless in his mind. Mayia was never spoken of, ever. Even SmellerBee was forcing himself to forget the true sister he had known. Jet could hear him, sometimes, in the house beside him; and instead of remembering her traits and flaws and personality, in the silent night he whispered the cause of her death, the roaring beasts of Fire Nation.

All this pain, and anguish, and despair, Sokka would see soon enough. His mother had been killed by the blood-thirsty devils, and all he had to do was seek revenge. Revenge would end the war; revenge would end the suffering. This Jet had convinced himself, blind to the fact that he was still tortured and confused after taking out more vengeance than he could remember.

Jet crouched on the limb and let his dark eyes wash over the main road. It was lighted by patches of morning sun, still fresh and peeking between the branches. He raised his hands to his mouth and gave a low, bird-like call. Sokka, crouched on the tree above him and drew his blade, eager to prove himself.

SmellerBee and Pipsqueak replied, through low whistles, that they had seen nothing. Jet had forgotten his lie about the assassin, replacing his motive with something far worse and terrible. He hoped that a lone soldier would walk by, maybe a run away from the ambushed camp. He could kill him with the turned hook of his blade and leave him, cold and motionless, in a Fire Nation settlement nearby - as a warning. His thoughts of slitting throats, however, were paused when he heard a hollow thud behind him. He looked back and saw Sokka's knife thrust into the bark of the tree.

"What're you doing?"

"Shh. It amplifies vibrations."

Jet grinned despite himself. _So this warrior does know something._

"Good trick."

Sokka pressed his ear to the hilt and listened for a brief moment as Jet awaited his next move.

"Nothing yet...wait...yes! Someone's approaching."

Jet chewed his twig and noted to borrow SmellerBee's dagger and try that sometime.

"How many?"

"...I think there's just one."

"Good work Sokka," Jet almost laughed hearing those words come out of his mouth and tensed. "Ready your weapon."

Sokka pulled his blade from the tree and crouched into fighting stance just as the man walked into view. Jet was done paying attention to Sokka; he had served his purpose, and now it was time to work. Though no trained soldier walked down the road, he was Fire Nation nonetheless. The man was pale and old, perhaps slightly crippled even, and bearing nothing but a small bag containing what Jet fancied as necessities. He seemed perfectly harmless - but he was Fire Nation, and Jet had to set and example.

"Wait! False alarm - he's just an old man -"

Jet continued to calmly ignore him as he unsheathed his blades with a shrill ring and leapt from the tree. He landed heavily on the ground in front of the traveler, his dark eyes smoldering as though he had somehow been offended. Jet did, in fact, feel very disrespected. This man had to have been warned by the soldiers that the woods were not safe - and yet he had journeyed here anyways? The Fire Nation was an arrogant, bloodthirsty fool, and they needed to be put in their place. And Jet was ready to do that.

"What are you doing in our woods, you leech?" he spat. Shadows creased across his eyes in a fearsome way as he glared furiously at the old man. Pipsqueak dropped down silently behind the suddenly terrified traveler, who had taken a step backwards in the wake of this dark and brooding boy. The scene, in fact, was quite similar to that fateful day so many years ago, when a black-haired, dark-eyed boy, who bled shadows and pulsed with power, had appeared in a circle of rogue children with a single proposition.

"Please sir, I'm just a traveler -"

Jet ignored him the same way he ignored Sokka. With his pride and anger rising, he viciously slashed the walking staff away from the man's hand and sent it flying uselessly into the brush. He pointed his hooked sword threateningly at the man, who turned to flee and ran headlong into the motionless Pipsqueak, who towered above him like an ominous Titan. The man fell hard to the earth and looked up, terrified, at the stooped, massive form of his second enemy. He turned and tried to run, but Pipsqueak pinned him to the earth with one firm foot. He groveled in the dirt as Jet stepped forth to tower above him, his face dancing with shadows.

"Do like destroying towns? Do you like destroying _families_? _Do you_?" he snarled. He was suddenly completely prepared to beat and kill this defenseless man, his anger consuming him, the bloody, headless corpse of his mother dancing in and out of focus like a twisted ballerina.

"Oh - please! Let me go! Have mercy!' begged the man hoarsely, covering his head defensively with one free hand. Jet became enraged at the word. Mercy? Did he dare speak that word to him, after his demonic Nation tore apart peace and ravaged the world in war for no reason?

"Does the Fire Nation let people go? Does the_ Fire Nation _have mercy?"

The demon rose in him and Jet nearly roared in the depth of his fury. Revolting, blood-soaked bodies and crimson hellfires were scattered hauntingly in his gaze, the screams of the innocent echoing madly in his ears. He wanted to rip out the man's throat, let the warm liquid in the great vein fall upon his palms and through his fingers, soaking the earth as the old liar cried out for help, and begged, and pleaded, half-choking on his own vomit and blood. He wanted to grind him into the dust, tear him to pieces, leave him broken and lifeless for the vultures...Jet raised his foot to aim a vicious strike straight into the man's face - and felt an unpredicted tug at his ankle.

Jet did not lose his balance. Even in the depths of his wrath he always checked himself, always subdued his greatest passions. Sokka's club left his foot unwillingly as Jet kicked it ruthlessly away.

"Jet, he's just an old man -!"

"He's Fire Nation! Search him!" roared Jet, throwing his fearsome, shadowed gaze directly into Sokka's sincere one. Sokka faltered for a minute but regained his courage just as Pipsqueak and SmellerBee began to follow Jet's orders.

"But he's not hurting anyone!" Sokka pleaded, still shocked at the rash and violent action of the shadowed leader. Jet's dark eyes bore fiercely into Sokka's, his teeth practically bared, his gaze smoldering, enraged, forcing him to understand. His words were brutal, his tone demanding instant understanding, instant obedience.

"Have you forgotten that the Fire Nation killed your mother? Remember why you fight!"

"We got his stuff, Jet!"

Jet's gaze was dark, and savage, and absolutely terrifying. He let his eyes leave Sokka's for only a moment to see SmellerBee holding up the man's bag, and Sokka took the opportunity to fight back against the dictatorship he now knew embodied Jet's authority.

"This doesn't feel right!"

Jet knew it, right there and then - but he hoped, for the first time in his life, that he was mistaken.

Sokka would have to understand, eventually...one way or another.

"It's what has to be done. Now let's get outta here," he growled, shoving Sokka out of his way. He was extremely angry that he had not killed the man, and that Sokka had dared to interfere in affairs he had no idea about. SmellerBee and Pipsqueak quickly followed him as he took off angrily down the path, but Sokka stayed behind for half a moment, looking guiltily at the man.

Jet was cunning - he was a fast thinker, smooth talker, and excellent at observation. He knew instantly that Sokka would tell his sister and the Avatar what had happened, because Sokka already disliked him greatly and was most likely to complain to his friends. Half a second after getting out of Sokka's earshot, he turned swiftly to SmellerBee.

"Let me borrow your dagger, SmellerBee."

"Here, Jet."

Jet slipped the Fire Nation dagger with the secret poison into a concealed compartment on his left pantleg. Then he threw a harsh, unfriendly request over his shoulder.

"Come on, Sokka!"

* * *

Aang swung down a rope and spun from the handle, landing gently on the platform where Sokka sat, utterly infuriated, his back slumped against the tree trunk. Aang, oblivious to his friend's sour mood (he was definitely used to it by now) ran up to him in a feverish excitement, opening the bag over his shoulder.

"Sokka! Look what the Duke gave me!"

The young Avatar pulled out a miniature pellet from the bag and glared slyly at Momo, who was watching him with ears raised. The pellet fell at the poor Lemur's feet and gave a loud snap and a painful flash; Momo screeched like a cat, leapt on the bag, and immediately began throwing pellets at Aang's feet in revenge. Aang stumbled away, yelling for Momo to quit it, just as Katara came down the ladder. She approached Sokka, also failing to sense his angry mood, and smiled delightfully.

"Hey Sokka...is Jet back?" she hesitated before saying this last part and struggled not to blush.

"Yeah, he's back - but we're leaving," snarled Sokka over his shoulder, too furious to explain. Aang popped up from massaging his stinging feet with a crestfallen look.

"What - ?"

Katara seemed just as, if not more, unhappy.

"But I made him this hat..."

She looked sadly at the red mass of string and twigs and leaves in her hand, sighing as her gaze fell upon the lonesome, half-wilted yellow flower that crowned it. Sensing his sister's and the Avatar's likeness for Jet, Sokka grew even more angry and spat out the first thing that came to his mind, clenching his arms tightly in crossed position to resist leaping up and screaming at them both.

"You're boyfriend Jet's a thug," he managed, barely able to restrain the fury in his voice. Katara looked both stunned, and - in some strange way - happy.

"What?...No he's not!" she declared firmly. Sokka didn't move.

"He's messed up, Katara," he said, letting his rage fade slightly in an attempt for her to understand. But the sudden sound of Aang's voice made him momentarily forget his anger.

"He's not messed up - he's just got a different way of life. A really fun way of life!" he exclaimed, gesturing to a boy flying past them on a rope-handle. Sokka, once again, felt his blood begin to boil.

"He _beat _and _robbed _a harmless old man!" he stated viciously. Katara crossed her arms defiantly and glared headlong at her obstinate brother.

"I wanna hear Jet's side of the story."

* * *

"Sokka, you told them what happened but you didn't mention that the guy was Fire Nation?" said Jet lowly, determined to keep the rage from his voice. The shadows were once again falling across his eyes, but in a more handsome, roguish way that made him seem wise and brave. Jet knew something like this was going to happen, but he at least thought Sokka would leave the Fire Nationpart in._ This might be harder that I thought_.

"No, he conveniently left that part out," said Katara firmly, turning to glare at Sokka, who was still slumped sourly against the nearest wall. Jet very nearly smiled at these words, because he at least knew that she wasn't too fond of her brother, and the Avatar would follow her lead. Two out of three was better than nothing, and there was still great hope for Sokka, if he would just shut up and listen to orders.

"Fine, but - even if he was Fire Nation, he was a harmless civilian -"

"He was an assassin, Sokka."

The blade thudded into the wood, gleaming, leering at the three travelers in a twisted, unnatural way. Jet nearly grinned as Sokka stared in shock, but stopped himself as the Avatar's eyes rode up the length of the blade. He grabbed the notch at the end of the hilt delicately and unscrewed the vial.

"See? There's a compartment for poison in the knife...he was sent to eliminate me," Jet whispered. Jet would always fancy himself a great threat to the Fire Nation, and this moment was no exception. But his ability to stretch his reputation was now used to his advantage, as Katara fell back into a relieved smile. And then jet put the icing on the cake.

"...You helped save my life, Sokka."

That was it. The warrior boy had to accept it. He had saved his leader's life, had been given this chance - a golden opportunity, Jet thought - to fight by his side, to take revenge against the devils that had destroyed their lives, to free the world from the rule of demons and disgusting, blood-thirsty men. He would join him. Jet resolved upon this right then and there. Sokka would join him.

He had to.

"I knew there was an explanation -" Katara started, by Sokka cut her short.

"I didn't see any knife," he snapped. Jet ground his teeth and lowered his head more to veil his fury, still speaking clearly, and evenly, and calmly. Jet was smooth, and no upstart peasant was going to break him after all these years.

"That's because he was concealing it," he said.

_Accept it. Stop fighting against me. You should be fighting the Fire Nation._

"See, Sokka? I'm sure you just didn't notice the knife..."

_Agree with her. She's your sister. She knows. She fights. She doesn't ask questions._

"There was no knife! I'm going back to the hut and packing my things."

Sokka stormed from the room, but Jet did not mark it. He knew when things were no longer of use to him. He would displace the troublesome boy later. He had two more to convince to his side. He chanced one short glance at Sokka's disappearing back before turning to Aang and Katara, who listened to him with an unrivaled attentiveness

"Tell me you guys aren't leaving yet...I really need your help."

The sympathy card was perfect. Katara's gaze softened. Aang, the Avatar, always one to help in any cause, jumped at his request.

"What do we do?"

Jet was quick. Jet was absolute. Jet was cunning, and definite, and confident. If he had not been, he would have given in to his insanity long ago. It was perfect. The dam, the blasting jelly, the pair of benders at his disposal. The Fire Nation would regret the day they slaughtered Jet's family, regret the day they crossed that frightened boy's path. They would regret it, and they would pay.

"The Fire Nation is planning on burning down our forest. If you both use water bending to fill the reservoir, we can fight the fires..." his gaze faltered and fell. "But if you leave now...they'll destroy the whole valley."

He knew it from the expression on their faces, the determination in their eyes. He had seen that look often enough before. Jet grinned as they left, lost in his own sick fantasy. This time, the Fire Nation would pay. In trenches, in rivers, in oceans of blood, they would pay.


End file.
